Words
by exdee
Summary: Told from the viewpoint of Grace in firstperson, this is mostly drabble. She just can't find the words. 3 out of 5 chapters complete! R and R, please.
1. No Explanation

Some first-person Grace drabble set right after the end of the second season school-year. Please, r&r so I know whether to continue or not.

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What if I told him? What if everything came rushing out one day, knocking into him in a wave of... of what? What is it? Are there words for this that don't come from a Hallmark card or a teen novel? 

I pull the covers up over my head and try not to think about this. After all, is there any particularly good reason I should tell him? Besides the obvious 'get rid of the giant lead block in my stomach' thing, I can't think of one. Coffee would be good. The only way to sort something out at 5 AM on a Saturday is over coffee.

I swing my legs over the side of the bed, and make the left turn out into the hall. Mom won't be up for another few hours, she zonked out a while ago. Somehow, with my eyes half-open and no recollection of descending the stairs, I've managed to make my way to the kitchen, and put on a pot of half-caf, no less.

30 minutes later, I'm wide awake after my first sips of the steamy hot liquid. I resist the urge to quote _Airplane _and mumble "I like my coffee black, like my man.", just for the sake of irony. Because it's becoming increasingly clear how I feel about a certain computer-screen-bleached geek.

I can't help wondering if he knows everything I'm feeling already, and maybe he's just waiting to see how I'll bring it up. But, dammit, I highly doubt he's telepathic. Never showing any signs of recognition all those times I thought 'I love you' have lead me to believe that it just isn't happening. Of course, I have a few good reasons to be glad he's not. For example, all of those times I mentally shouted "screw you!"

I could write him something, but can you really get much more lame than that? Anyway, I refuse to make myself write. Especially for someone else. Besides, every single word in the English language that people normally use under the circumstance seems dull or idiotic or straight out of a 90's sitcom.

One would think spending inordinate ammounts of time in a creepy biology closet filled with dead animals in jars would say it plainly enough. Especially considering what was being done in there.

The first weekend of my summer vacation, and I'm already wishing for a distraction. Get it together, Polk. I down the last few centimeters left in the mug, change, and head out on a walk. It's 7:00. No matter how much I try to kid myself, I know where I'll end up.

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Should I continue with this? All _constructive_ comments welcome. xD  



	2. The Walk

Alrighty, here's the second chapter in my Grace-fic. Well, this parts a little more Luke/Grace than just Grace. This chapter will have a few references to "Room to Panic", so you may want to read that first. Don't worry, it's not too long. I'm still Exdee, remember. ;D

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Still about 7 houses away, I was shocked to see him sitting on front step, like he knew I was coming. Hm, maybe he _is_ telepathic. I could feel my lips twist into a wry grin. 

Woah, Polk, what're you doing here? Hold up. Am I really about to do this? The question really is, however, what am I about to do? I'm thinking, at this point, that a plan might have been helpful. But how anarchist is planning? No, screw the plan. I can do this without one.

"Grace?" Wow - I didn't know someone's eyebrows could go up that high. Apparently it's shocking to see the girlfriend you always thought was extremely embarrassed by you come walking to your house at the crack of dawn.

"Nope, I'm just a figment of your imagination combined with breathing in too many strange chemicals." Dry wit has always served me well in the past, why abandon it in my time of need?

Conveniently, all of my doubt seems to melt away as I approach. I grab his hand for a moment, then drop it: "Come on, we're going for a walk." I counter his bewhildered look with a slightly suggestive one of my own.

"Grace, we don't really need to break into the biology closet right this minute. Or at all this summer, for that matter. I have a very nice linen closet in the upstairs hallway, if you'd like to come up and take a look." Shit, I love that smile.

"Don't flatter yourself, geek." I take his hand again, and hear no more complaints for the rest of the ten minute walk.

Thirty minutes later, it's become clear that no one else will be joining us in the park. Too cloudy and cool for June, at least according to most people.

I walk over to an enormous oak tree and sit at its base. Sitting down beside me, he doesn't even attempt the yawn manevuer, confident that I'm not going to tell him off for putting his arm around me. For some reason, I'm not as offended as I would think. Instead, surprising both of us, I rest my head against his shoulder.

"I think I might have something to tell you."

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R&R, please. Hopefully, I can sum the story up in two or three more chapters. 


	3. The Words

Here goes nothing.

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Every time I had rehearsed this in my head, things were easier. Not that I had ever planned on telling him, least of all being the first to say something. Why in the hell am I doing this again? Oh right. The lead brick. Keep your focus, Polk. And try to keep things in sentence form. 

Now that I'm about to do this, I can't find the words.

"There aren't any words." I try to look flippant, but I'm having a hell of a time trying to pull it off. He looks confused.

"There aren't any words for what, Grace?" I can tell he's concerned. Dammit. He actually cares; he's not just looking for an easy lay. When did guys like that show up, at least in real life? Theoretically, I guess that part shouldn't be making this harder. It is. "Does this have something to do with your mom?"

"Psh. I know the words for that: I never want to be like her." And I don't. Because sometimes it seems she's drinking away whatever she and the rabbi had to begin with. "I just... Okay, dude. You know I'm not emotional and I would rather dip my arm in acid than show that I care about anyone. But you, Mr. Logic Boy of all people, should come to a certain conclusion when a girl will willingly spend time in closets full of dead things in jars to fulfill, and often exceed, the '5 minute minimum rule'." I still tried for the flippant thing. Unfortunately, I couldn't even fool myself.

The slightly suprised but mostly pleased look on his face had an air of "Ah-hah, I knew it!" Pattented science geek expression.

"Grace..."

"Yes, that means what you think it means, geek. I just can't find any way to get it out without sounding like I should be an overpriced, rectangular piece of folded cardboard with a mushy saying and a barcode."

Why does he have to smile like that? Very "I knew it all along." Unfortunately, my annoyance is unwarranted: he's really not being cruel about my discomfort. Should make it easier; doesn't.

He slides down to would-be-eye-level, if we weren't side by side. I can feel his lips brush my cheek and I don't even get the urge to roll my eyes when I hear "I love you too, Grace."

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Well, I'm planning on doing 2 more chapters. Maybe just to tie it all together. What do my critics think? 


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